


A saint who never sins is naught a saint at all

by MorteMistrata



Series: Happy Hotel [2]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Radio demon vs. Tv demon, but she don't have to be, charlie can be very dangerous when she wants to, don't mess with the hotel, she chooses to be a cute little princess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21727480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteMistrata/pseuds/MorteMistrata
Summary: The T.V. Demon and the Radio Demon have some unfinished business with each other, and Alastor's presence drags the hotel into it. Charlie is curious about Alastor, though she knows that she shouldn't be, and quite upset that someone dares to mess with the Hotel.#unfortunately, I am not going to be picking this back up until we get more Hazbin content because it is difficult to be inspired with so little material to work with.#
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne, Angel Dust & Charlie Magne, Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Series: Happy Hotel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574053
Comments: 68
Kudos: 316





	1. Chapter 1

Charlie couldn’t trust him. She knows that. Vaggie reminds her of it every chance she gets, and even if she didn’t, she still would have known. His deeds were infamous; the mystery surrounding him even more so. Still, Charlie finds it hard not to be curious.

“A dance?” She repeats quizzically. Vaggie crosses her arms and frowns.

“A simple get together for the purpose of fraternization. You might even attract new patrons.” Alastor adds, the crook of his eyebrow rising ever so slightly.

Charlie doesn’t know what that means. With an ever present smile, its near impossible to tell how he truly feels. His trickster persona is truly well crafted.

“Not a good idea.” Vaggie says sternly. Her eyes are on Alastor. Her brows are furrowed.

They’ve been furrowed ever since they first met. Not that her distrust is misplaced, but still. Redemption has to start somewhere, doesn’t it?

“Well, as long as there’s no booze, or drugs or orgies-”

“Boo,” Angeldust calls from his favorite red sofa.

“I don’t see why not.” Charlie finishes. Alastor’s eyes are half lidded. Could that be smugness? Or maybe something like fondness?

“Without booze, ain’t nobody comin’.” Husk adds. He’s been pouty since Vaggie enforced no drinking hours. He’s stuck sober for another hour.

“No booze,” Charlie reiterates. Husk kicks his feet up on the bar table and huffs. “No orgies, no drugs.”

“We don’t need all of that to have fun,” Alastor stoops over, offering her a hand. Vaggie frowns harder. Charlie can feel the music churning under his skin. It’s infectious. She accepts it.

Alastor twirls her inwards, and her pants and suspenders turn into a gleaming flapper dress. The lobby begins to smell like a distillery and the colors turn all wrong. Angel looks up from his ice pop with modest curiosity. He shrugs, as the color moves outward, changing the room into a speakeasy straight out of the pages of a history book. More than likely copied right from Alastor’s memory.

“Let’s throw a party-” The first line is hardly out of his mouth before it all reverses, spiraling inward until everything is like it was before. Alastor winces, and though the smile does not fall, she swears that it wavers.

Before Charlie can ask what’s wrong, she feels it too. An image beams directly into her mind; a clawed hand pulling at a head until it disconnects from the body, and the spine comes out in a single fluid motion, blood splattering, and visera splashing upon the camera lens. Charlie can feel it, she can’t feel her own body, her own mind, even though she knows that it’s all just a vision.

“How interesting,” The TV demon drawls. A name comes to mind, just as his face flashes with static, and she feels a scream, rather than hears it erupt from someone in the room with her. His name is Vox. “You seem to have made some new friends. How quaint.”

Charlie feels the anger rise up inside her. How dare he interrupt? How dare he trespass in her domain? She may only be a princess, but damn right is he going to respect what little she claims for herself.

“Fuck,” The word rises like a wave, filled with despair and pain, and rides the signal back to him. Vox shrinks back. “Off.”

The signal cuts off.

Vaggie lies unconscious on the ground, her hair spread like a halo around her head. Her left eye is blank and dark; she’ll probably be out for a while. Angeldust’s ice pop is melting on his chest fur, and Husk is asleep across his bar counter, the card tower he’d been building collapsed around him.

Alastor is still standing, but his grin is the droopiest she’d ever seen it. 

Charlie isn’t sure whether or not it was her, or the Vox who caused everyone to black out, and she’s not sure how long it’ll last either. She lifts Vaggie, and half-carries, half-drags her to the couch. Charlie lifts the ice pop from Angel’s chest, lays it on the side table on top of the discarded wrapper, and slumps Vaggie on the other side of the couch. She leaves Husk where he is; he’s passed out there more than once already.

“Alastor, are you alright?”

He looks up, his appearance near pristine once more. 

“Charlie, my dear, are you?”

She reaches a hand up gingerly, and feels the horns poking through her hair. She furrows her brows, and attempts to force it back inside, but the flow of magic within her feels blocked. A headache like the worst hangover ever times ten hits her like a brick. 

She winces, and raises a hand to her temple. “I’m fine. Just a headache. Do you know what all of that was about?”

Alastor’s eyes flash, his iris’ shifting to radio dials and back again in an instant. “Just an old friend dropping in. I’m sure that he won’t make that mistake again, my dear.”

“Well, uh,” Charlie looks him over, and though he’s loathe to admit it, he’s probably feeling pretty shitty too. After all, the TV demon and the Radio demon are nearly matched in power. “If you’re sure.”

Alastor grins. 

Charlie feels uncomfortable.

Husk grunts and peels himself off of the counter. “Da fuck was that?” He grumbles.

###

The peace lasts maybe a week. Some idiots try to vandalize the front doors of the hotel until Alastor’s grin or Angel’s jeering scares them away. Nifty nearly sets the couch on fire in what was most definitely an act of pyromania, despite her protests to the contrary. Charlie is still on edge, because well, yeah she knew that going on the news would garner attention, and Vaggie made sure she knew that it wouldn’t all be positive, but she hadn’t expected someone like the Radio Demon to drop by.

Not even after Alastor took an interest. If anything, she had hoped that his presence would deter others from trying to mess with her. Apparently, it hadn’t.

It’s not until a full week passes by that she finally relaxes enough to try and do some redeeming activities with Angel again, not that he seems all that interested in them.

“No.” Charlie slaps halfheartedly at Angel’s arm. He pretends that he wasn’t trying to peer at her hand of cards, and pouts as he slinks back into his seat. “No cheating.”

“It’s not cheating if you’re fool enough to flash your hand like that.”

“Cheating is bad. It’s a form of lying and that is a sin.” Charlie enunciates each word carefully, as if it’ll finally get through his thick skull if she says it slow enough. “The point of playing this game is to do so nicely.”

“Ain’t gambling a sin too?” Husk chimes in snarkily.

Charlie huffs, surveying her royal flush with a drab glare. “Well, yeah, but we’ve got to start somewhere, right?”

“And right now,” Vaggie says, lifting a card from her deck between two fingers. “We’re starting with ‘losing gracefully’.”

She grins as she sets down a draw four card. Charlie was at one card, a blue seven, and she was sure that she was going to win, though the plan was to throw the game in Angel’s favor last minute. Now there’s no chance of winning. 

Charlie huffs, but ‘gracefully’ accepts the turn of events. She plucks four cards, and shuffles them into her deck. 

She waves at Angeldust. “Go, Angel. And stop snickering.”

Alastor enters the room, and peers over Charlie’s shoulder, so close that his hair brushes against her cheek. He doesn’t say anything, just looks her cards up and down, and waits, uncomfortably close. Sweat drips down her temple. Vaggie kicks her under the table. 

“Go, Charlie.”

Charlie glances at the card she’s supposed to match, and sets down a green reverse, thereby inflicting Vaggie’s wrath on Angel instead of her.

“Interesting.” The static in Alastor’s voice makes the word nearly inaudible. Is that his version of a murmur?

“No, it’s not. It’s not interesting at all. My cards are shit.”

“So’s your poker face.” Husk calls. He’s got a glass of something clear in the glass by his feet, and Charlie is sure that it’s not water. 

Charlie watched Vaggie place down a regular number card; she’s out of good ones for sure. Angel puts down another six. His previous card was a nine. She declines to comment, and drops a skip. 

Alastor is still over her shoulder. 

Being so close to him, Charlie can hear the shifting drone of radio station static. Does it change due to mood or thought? She considers her cards, and wonders what she might choose to use next.

Someone knocks on the door.

Alastor, thankfully, straightens up, giving her enough space to push back her chair and stand. She leaves her hand face down on the table, and gives a meaningful look to Angel as she passes by. _No cheating._

He shrugs. Vaggie growls halfheartedly. 

Charlie opens the door with a wide grin. 

“Hello!” Her greeting dies in her throat. Shit, she shouldn’t have let her guard down. If a real fight breaks out in person, the hotel will be nothing but rubble by the time it’s over.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance in person, doll. I apologize for the earlier interruption, but it is so very difficult to catch up with old friends who are often on the move. Might I come in?” The TV demon’s face shifts, streak of bright yellow on grey static. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is spread in a polite, sharp toothed grin. 

God is she starting to hate grins. 

Charlie turns back to call Vaggie, but actually- She doesn’t think Vaggie will be able to do anything. This is Alastor’s problem, isn’t it? He’ll know what to do more than she will. 

“Alastor,” She calls. He looks up from the card table. She thinks his eyes flash like radio dials at the waver of her voice. “There’s someone at the door for you.”

He gestures widely, beckoning for the guest to come in. “Well, invite him in why don’t you? It would be rude not to put on some tea.” The timber of his voice lowers, the sound of static more grainy that before. Charlie thinks that she can ‘speak Alastor’ enough to guess that he too is on edge. He probably takes offense at being intruded on in what’s being recognized as his territory, even if it’s not, technically.

Charlie turns back to the visitor. She has a bad feeling about this, but she smiles with renewed vigor, and opens the door wider. 

“Of course,” She says, stepping aside. “And welcome to the Happy Hotel.” 


	2. Tea party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't seen this much audience participation since my Voltron days. I haven't been this inspired since then either. I just finished finals, had some college drama, and I'm going back to work! So hopefully I'll be able to funnel this stress into something constructive ( like more chapters of this!). Thanks for reading and don't forget to comment!

Vox takes a seat at the table beside Angel. Despite his general lack of political knowledge, he seems aware of the inherent danger of being so close to someone radiating magic as strongly as the sun radiates heat, and swiftly vacates his usual spot to stand beside Vaggie. She leans on the door to the kitchen, her arms crossed as per usual for when things don’t go how they should. She gives Charlie a Look ™ , but there isn’t much that she can do besides take a seat, and act hospitably.

“Would you like something to drink?” The words come out somewhat stilted, but friendly nonetheless. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Vox eyes the abandoned cards left on the table as Alastor takes the seat across from him, on Charlie’s other side. “It seems that I’ve interrupted a game of yours.”

“It’s fine.” Charlie says, just as Alastor offers, “Would you like to play?” 

Alastor snaps, and Husk, with minimal grumbling, gets up from the bar, a bottle of wine and three glasses dangling between his claws. He sets them on the table, pours, and starts shuffling with the ease of a well weathered casino patron. Alastor hands Charlie a glass of red. Vox doesn’t even bother looking at the cup.

Does he even have a mouth? Does he even have a need to eat or drink? Surely Alastor wouldn’t try to make things worse by taunting him with the limits of his hell-bourne form?

Vox doesn’t let it disturb him, if this is the case. His eyes flit from Husk, to Alastor to Charlie. 

“So, Doll,” He leans back in his seat, looking much more at ease than anyone else is. “How did you manage to convince my ol’ buddy Alastor to take on this wreck of an idea?”

This, she can deal with. Charlie’s been fielding questions like this, both genuine and cruel in nature, ever since the idea of the Happy Hotel was first conceived. She leans forward, her glass tipping dangerously. 

“Actually, he wanted to help. Trying to fix our population problems rather than wait for the exterminators to do it _ is _ a good idea. Any of us could end up exterminated one day, so think of it as an exercise in self preservation.” The way that Charlie explains it is a bit easier to swallow for those with less empathy than she has, but by the colors that flash across his screen, bright stripes of red and humorous green, Vox still doesn’t agree.

He snorts, and white noise rumbles under his voice. “Some might be exterminated, but I will not. That is a sacrifice I am fine with making.”

If anything, the continued mocking of her dream has given her thicker skin. This isn’t the first charity idea she’s had, but it is the most public. It’s easier now to turn that pain into something else, be it a drive to prove them wrong, or general anxiety over her situation. Thankfully the roulette wheel has landed on a favorable outcome today. 

Charlie huffs, another rehearsed line coming to mind, albeit jumbled and somewhat frazzled with the anger slowly brewing beneath the sting of rejection. “And what will you do when your power wanes like the High Lords before you? No one reigns immortal in Hell.”  _ Except for my dad. _ She takes a sip of her wine, and tries not to make a face at the bitter taste. Vox’s grin turns into something weaponized, like he’s on the verge of unleashing his anger into the air like a palpable wave. 

Alastor is still grinning. It looks real this time, and the gaze he levies on her appears almost… proud. 

“Enough about business, Vox. Let’s play a game. Any preferences?”

“Blackjack.” He replies, his face once more serene and reserved. “I don’t think our gracious host would do very well at poker.”

That much is true; Charlie has never won a game of poker, though statistics state that should have won at least one by now. Blackjack, however, is pretty simple. 

Husk deals two cards to each of them, face down. Alastor doesn’t even bother to look at them, but by the smug look in his eyes, he’s got good cards. Charlie doesn’t believe in using magic extraneously. She peels the cards from the table and eyes her hand. Ace and a nine. Either a twenty or a ten, depending on how she plays it. She decides to not risk it, and lays them back on the table. 

Alastor still hasn’t really talked to Vox. Charlie is uncomfortable with him here, but she did invite him in, at Alastor’s behest. And it’s his ‘friend’ anyway, so isn’t it on him to deal with whatever trickster-y things he’s up to? While Charlie might want to be nice, and to think the best of him, the attack last week makes her hesitant to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, having two tricksters in the same room makes her skin itch with the layers of hell-borne magic rippling around them, like some kind of dick measuring contest. 

“Draw.” Vox requests. Husk slides a card over that slips directly into Vox’s outstretched hand. He peers over his cards, and then flips them over. 

Charlie follows in suit, and then beside her, Alastor does the same. 

Charlie’s hand is the winner, until she looks too closely at Vox’s hand, and finds the numbers changing before her eyes, from an eight, seven and nine to two nines and a three. It gives her the start of a headache. 

“Looks like no one wins,” Alastor comments idly. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind explaining the reason behind your visit, _ old friend _ ?”

The way that he says it makes it clear that they are nothing of the sort. Alastor leans back in his chair, his wine glass held with deliberate gracefulness between two slender fingers. 

Vox leans forward, his head held in his interlocked hands. “We have unresolved business, Alastor. It’s not like you to forget such things.”

Alastor’s eyes flash. 

“Is that so?” The sound of shifting frequencies fills the silence between his words. “I am not interested in your petty politics, Vox. Whatever you wish to extort from me will not be given freely.”

Vox laughs like a dog barking. “There is no such thing as ‘petty politics’. I require payment, Alastor. Or else I’ll have no choice but to take what’s owed me in other ways.”

Charlie is aware that the two competed for territories in the height of Alastor’s reign of terror, but that’s been over for years now. All Alastor really lays claim to is a few radio stations, at least to her knowledge. 

“You’re welcome to try. I’ll have to ask you to take your leave now. Charlie and I have more important things to attend to at the moment.”

Husk winces as he gathers the cards into a stack, and backs away from the table. 

Vox stands, the chair screeching as it flies backward and teeters on its back two legs, finally falling over. He bows slightly at the waist to Alastor, and then turns to Charlie. Unlike Alastor, his grin doesn’t seem to be a permanent fixture of his face. It shifts into a smirk as he takes Charlie’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. His lips are flat and clammy. An electric shock jumps from him into her skin, and Charlie startles. 

Vaggie growls across the room, and Charlie panics, drawing her hand back just as he releases it. He straightens up, and gestures to the room. 

“I bid you adieu, old friend. I will be in touch.” 

He exits the hotel, the door slamming with harsh finality behind him. 

Husk takes the untouched glass of wine from the table, and downs it in a single gulp. He reaches for Charlie’s unfinished glass, and she nudges it towards him. He finishes that one much the same, and heads back to the bar with the bottle under his arm. 

“I dunno what shit this hotel is own, but your attracting eldritch horrors like cats to catnip.” He grumbles. “Wasn’t one enough?”

Vaggie rushes over, electricity jumping under her fingertips as she grabs both of Charlie’s arms. She leans forward, searching her face for any sign of harm. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Charlie says with a reassuring smile. “He was a little weird, but I think I’m getting used to weird anyway.”

Vaggie’s sighs in relief, and draws her into a hug. “I hate to admit it, but Husk is right. If Vox tried something like that again… “ She trails off. 

Charlie draws back, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “If he tries something, I can handle it. We can handle it, okay?”

Satisfied with Charlie’s response, Vaggie draws back, and marches over to Alastor. Angel stands and makes a halfhearted attempt to reach forward and grab Vaggie’s arm, but upon failing, returns to leaning against the door frame. 

“And you,” Vaggie jabs a finger at Alastor’s chest. “You brought him here! What are you gonna do about it, huh? I’m not going to stand for Charlie or this hotel to get caught up in your business.” 

Threatening someone like Alastor is not a good idea. Charlie wraps an arm around her waist, and tugs her backwards. 

Surprisingly, Alastor does not lash out at her, though hell knows how easy it would be to crush her in the carelessness of her anger. 

He spins his staff contemplatively, and stands, tapping it twice against the floor. “You’re not wrong,” He admits. “Vox does tend to ruin the fun. I’ll tend to him on my own time, however. Be assured that he will not bother our charming demon belle again.”

Vaggie doesn’t look satisfied, but Charlie thinks that Alastor is trying, and well, what kind of example would she be if she didn’t at least give Alastor a chance to redeem himself? And for what it’s worth, it looks like he’s trying. 

“Thanks.” Charlie says, offering a hesitant smile. “You’re idea about the dance, how about we work on that for now? It’s kind of empty in here still, even with all of the new staff.”

“Splendid.” Alastor replies, his grin once again at full wattage. “Let’s.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been like weirdly super inspired lately, which means I'm writing a helluva lot more than I usually do. Any of my long time followers can tell you how bad my updates are, given that I both gain and lose attention +inspiration quickly, so hopefully this weird burst lasts! This is probably 100% the last update before Christmas, so happy holidays guys, and thanks for reading and reviewing! Also, I've got another story in this collection, if you'd like to take a look.

Despite the god-awful amount of parties Charlie has had to attend as the daughter of Lucifer, she has no real experience at planning her own. It’s not that she dislikes parties; it’s just that they tend to get a bit… rowdy. And parties tend to make people stupid, and well, stupid people do stupid things. Angeldust, however, has planned plenty for the releases of his porn tapes, and so despite his general apathy about Charlie’s project, she manages to wrangle him onto the party planning committee. 

“I think we should have a pinata,” She says beamingly. Angel looks almost half heartedly interested. “With candy inside!”

Angel blows air, and waves his hand limp-wristedly as if to dispel her words from the air. “With drugs inside, maybe. This ain’t a kids party, toots.”

“The whole point of this place is to discourage sinning,” Vaggie repeats. “No drugs.” She crosses her arms for emphasis. 

Charlie crosses out ‘Pinata’ from her list. The page is mostly crossed out words, illegible except for ‘food’ and ‘lobby’, which everyone could agree on. 

This is maybe the third time Vaggie’s said it since they started. Charlie isn’t annoyed with the repetition; after all, it’s her dream that Vaggie’s defending. But Angel is getting snappier and snappier, and with the weight of Vox’s visit still hanging heavy over all of them, maybe it’s best to give a little leeway. 

Charlie places a hand over Vaggie’s. Almost immediately, she starts to calm down; her shoulders start to fall away from her shoulders, and the fire in her eyes dims to a soldering flame. “I know, babe, but maybe Angel’s right. We’re gonna have to meet them half-way, if we’re going to get anyone to come.”

Vaggie huffs. 

Angel smirks.

“Well,” Alastor says, clapping his hands together with a muted thud, “If you’re still set on saving all of those poor, unfortunate fools, we should aim for the bottom of the barrel.”

“We already did.” Vaggie mutters, eyeing Angel, who kicks his feet onto the table. 

“Guess your aim is off them, cause I’m top of the charts, baby.” He clicks his tongue in punctuation. He aims finger guns at her, and then crosses his arms behind his head. 

Vaggie hisses, but by now Angel is aware that it’s really nothing more than a warning. 

“Vaggie, Alastor’s not wrong.” Charlie admits. “We’ll probably only be able to interest demons who think they’re going to get exterminated next time, at least until we have concrete proof it works… and especially after the news. But even they won’t come to our party if it’s not fun.”

Vaggie slips her fingers between Charlie’s, and draws their conjoined hands to her mouth for a kiss. “Any party of yours’ll be fun, Charlie. It’s on them for not seeing it.”

To her right, Alastor sits in the same spot he had sat in earlier in the week when Vox had come by to visit. He’s wearing the same red suit and jacket and always does, along with the same, unwavering, wide grin. His eyes though, that’s where the emotion really lies. His eye twitches, ever so slightly when Charlie looks away from Vaggie, and it’s the same kind of narrowed look that he’d had when Vox had gotten his last word in. She’s pretty sure that it means he’s annoyed. 

Charlie takes her hand back, and holds her chin in her hands. 

“Maybe.” She says, but she hardly believes it. “How do we attract people like that? It’ll take more than food.”

Angeldust raises a finger. “Orgies.”

“No.” Alastor and Charlie say at the same time. 

Vaggie looks pissed again, and Angeldust is ever smug. Charlie sighs, and leans back in her chair. She runs her fingers through her hair, pushing her curls away from her face. 

“We’re not getting anywhere. Let’s just- let’s take a break.”

“Fine with me!” Angel flings himself over the back of his chair with surprising dexterity. No wonder he’s so popular in the adult entertainment industry, Charlie thinks. “Dibs on the last ice pop.”

“I’ll get you something to drink, okay?” Vaggie offers, one hand lingering on Charlie’s shoulder as she stands and starts to the kitchen. “And we’ll figure it out.”

As the two of them disappear off to the kitchen, it’s only Alastor and Charlie left in the lobby. Nifty is off cleaning the other two hundred and seventeen floors, and the rooms therein, and after the Vox debacle, Husk decided to take a few days off for ‘networking’. It’s just them. Just the two of them. By themselves. 

Alastor’s foot brushes against hers, and despite there being no reason at all for her to do so, she blushes. 

“So,” Charlie drawls, moving her foot an inch or so to the left. “Did you ever want to talk about the Vox thing? I know that you said you were just here for entertainment, but maybe I could help, if he’s y’know, bothering you?”

His foot brushes against hers again, except this time, she’s sure that it’s intentional. A soft, jazz-like melody plays from somewhere in the lobby. Alastor leans forward, his head tilting ever so slightly to the left. 

“Oh, dear, how sweet of you to offer, but as I’ve said before,” His eyes flash, not in warning, but to substantiate his claim. “He will  _ not _ pose a problem in the future.”

Charlie isn’t so sure. Vox obviously has the reach to affect them remotely, even in the hotel, which he’s done before; and he’s brave enough to walk right up, and ask Alastor for what he wants, which means that he’s confident enough in his abilities to threaten him on ‘his’ home turf. If he really wants to hurt them, he definitely could.

Still, Alastor is obviously a man of pride. Poking too much at it will probably just get him upset, and then the party planning will be even more awkward than before. 

“Well, if you change your mind,” She drawls, drawing her feet into her chair. “The offer stands.”

“Charming. Thank you, my dear, I will certainly endeavor to remember your offer.” The faint sound of jazz begins to play, but it quickly peters off into silence when Vaggie reenters the room, juggling a tray of iced tea, cups and the cookies Nifty had made when she was done cleaning the first few floors in her arms. She sets them down on the table, and passes out cups, hesitating slightly before setting one down in front of Alastor. 

“So, any new ideas?” Vaggie asks as she takes her seat once more. She pours herself and Charlie tea, and interlocks their fingers. 

Alastor makes the sound of switching between staticked stations quickly. He takes a cookie, but doesn’t eat it.

“Uh, not really. I was trying to think of a theme, but most of the ones I like aren’t ones other people will.”

“Why, in my day, such extravaganzas rarely had themes beyond the art and gaucherie of it all, but I do recall a masquerade party or two.”

“Eeee!” Charlie squeals, her hand slipping free of Vaggie’s as she claps them together in excitement. “That’s a great idea!”

Angel leans against the chair in lieu of sitting in it, and grabs a cookie from the table. “Eh, as long as you bring booze and don’t go too outta your way to shove rehabilitation down their throats, why not? Knockin’ boots can come afterwards.”

Charlie turns to Vaggie, grinning wider than she has all day. Vaggie tries to hide it, but Charlie catches the down turn of her mouth before she quickly replaces it with a mirroring smile. “It’s a great idea, Charlie. Since Alastor and Angel know more about party planning than we do, let’s focus on the guest list, okay?”

“Sounds grand!” Alastor claps his hands together in punctuation. “Of course, I’d be delighted to help facilitate the party planning. Leave it to me.”

“That’s great,” Vaggie says, though her tone says the opposite. “Why don’t you two get started on it. Charlie?”

Charlie can tell that Vaggie’s in a mood. She’s been in a mood for a while now actually, but she’s been keeping it to herself ever since Charlie decided to let Alastor work with them. After dealing with Vox, she’d expected her to say something, like ‘I told you so’, but the most she’d really done was look put out. 

Charlie takes her offered hand and follows Vaggie to the kitchen. There’s food left out on the counter for dinner, which Alastor has surprisingly taken over with stunning results. If his meat is usually a little too rare for her tastes, well, it still tastes pretty good, and the few times that he’s dabbled with desserts, Charlie’s been unable to restrain herself. She eyes the scattered ingredients with curiosity, but can’t think of a dish that would use them all.

Vaggie lets go of her hand, and twirls on her heel to face her. 

“You need to stop being so close to Alastor.”

“What? Why? He’s been nothing but nice-” Vaggie grabs her by the shoulders, her eye wide and imploring.

“He has a  _ reputation.  _ Do you really think that he’s helping out here just because it’s fun? So that he can plan parties? I see how he looks at you. It’s like he’s starving and you’re the sweetest thing in the room. I. Don’t. Trust. Him.”

“Vaggie,” Charlie sighs. She understands where Vaggie is coming from, but it’s not in her nature to be mean to someone who hasn’t done anything to deserve it. “I get that, but it goes against the whole point of the hotel if I don’t at least try to work with him.”

Vaggie drops her voice, and lets her hands fall from Charlie’s arms to grasp one of her hands. “It’s fine. It’s fine to work with him. Just, please don’t get too close, okay?” 

Charlie hesitates. Vaggie has been there for her, and this is a such a small request. Why then, does it feel so wrong to do as she asks? Still, she knows that the right thing to give her girlfriend one of the few things she has ever asked Charlie for. 

Reluctantly, she replies, “Okay. I won’t. We don’t have to be friends.”

“Thank you,” Vaggie’s relief is clear in her posture and slumped shoulders. “You can go back and help with the planning, okay? I’ll get your address book, and we’ll write out the invitations later. And maybe we could, uh, watch a movie together?”

‘Watch a movie’ is a pretty obvious aneurysm for ‘couple time’. They really haven’t been able to spend quality time together ever since the whole news fiasco, so it’ll be nice to do so again before the hotel really takes off. 

“Sounds great.” Charlie says, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Vaggie smiles as she walks out the other door, to the service elevator, but as soon as she leaves, the one lingering on Charlie’s face falls. 

She takes a deep breath before walking back to the lobby door. As she approaches, she can hear the low murmur of voices, and despite herself, she can’t help but pause, the door only slightly open, as she hears her name. 

“Charlie’s apparently neva been to a real party before, even with the theme an’ all, whodya think’s gonna show?” Angel asks, his words muffled by a mouthful of cookies.

“Oh, I’ve got friends who owe me a favor or two. It wouldn’t do to crush her dreams so early on.”

“Ain’t that nice of ya? But are you sure they’ll want to play along? After Vox…”

“He was never a friend of mine. More like a nuisance. As for my other associates, they’re just as bored as I am. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the entertainment.” 

Charlie lets the door close as quietly as she can, creeps back a few feet, and then walks as heavily as she can towards the door once more. When she walks into the lobby, the room is quiet. Alastor’s cookie has a large, but perfect bite taken out of it. Both of them are practiced at hiding their expressions, as they don’t seem startled by her appearance. If either had known she’d been listening, they don’t show it. She takes her seat once more, and flips to a new page in her notebook. 

“So,” She says, glancing over at Alastor. His expression is annoyingly hard to read. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, nothin’ much.” Angel says, waving a hand as if to dispel her curiosity like smoke in the air. “Still disagreeing on the color scheme.”

“Red and black are a classy combination.” Alastor adds helpfully.. 

Charlie doesn’t get why they’re lying. Alastor was just helping with finding guests, and that’s not something to be ashamed about. If anything, his comment about not dashing her hopes would seem to prove that he’s growing a sense of empathy, if someone like him ever could have one. Maybe this is just proving Vaggie right. Alastor can’t be trusted, and she shouldn’t try to be friends with him. Or maybe it’s the opposite.

She could just ask, of course, but for now, she decides to let this go. At the very least, she should give Alastor the benefit of the doubt. After all, if Angel went along with it, well, it couldn’t have been in bad intentions. 

“Maybe something that contrasts with the whole hell color scheme?” She says, tapping her pink ink pen against the table. “Not that red is bad or anything, but maybe white instead of black?”

“Splendid idea,” Alastor replies. “Red suits the both of us rather well, doesn’t it?” His ears twitch ever so slightly, like a deer searching for danger, and Charlie has to beat down the urge not to squeal at how cute the mannerism is. 

Just as soon as the thought crosses her mind, she squashes it. Uh-uh, no. Thinking that Alastor is cute? Completely off the table. Unthinkable. The biggest no-no. Despite telling herself all of this, her cheeks warm as he watches her curiously, his ears twitching once again.

“R-right. Definitely.” She offers two thumbs up and a wavering smile. 

Not being friends is going to be a lot harder than Charlie thought. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually paid attention in high school when we read the Great Gatsby, so there's some lingo and references in here. Instead of writing this on the cruise, when I had little else to do, I ended up finishing my Star Trek project, and wrote this on the drive home. I'm going to admit straight away that this is inspired by a couple of other fics I've been reading. 
> 
> Check out : Dearest little pet by MightiestGlitch  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21266516
> 
> and
> 
> Your head has no right to say no by xensilverquill  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21713392
> 
> which is a crossover hazbin/ helluva.
> 
> Feel free to check out my tumblr @Morte-Mistrata for requests and ficlets! Thanks for reading and writing.

The phone gives a full nine rings before it finally relents and goes to voicemail. There’s no message asking for a name or a number; if you’ve acquired a way to contact her, you’re one of the lucky few who knows her intimately enough to not require one. It merely beeps, and transitions to an empty silence, waiting to be filled.

Charlie twirls a lock of hair around her finger, and bites her lip. “Hey, Mom. It’s, uh, me, Charlie. But you know that already.” She stares at her feet. There had been an uncharacteristic rain earlier in the day, and deep, oily puddles dot the sidewalk like dark mirrors reflecting the sky. She taps her foot, and watches as the sheen laps against her sole. “The hotel is going great! Or, well, not great, but pretty good. Better than the other ones. I’ve got- you know Alastor, right? The Radio Demon? He decided to help with the hotel, and he’s been pretty nice, actually. We’re throwing a party- a masquerade ball. I’m not going to ask you guys to come. I know how dad feels about charity, and you’re obviously busy,”  _ too busy to answer any of my calls _ , she thinks, and tries unsuccessfully to keep the hurt from leaking into her voice. “But I wanted you to know.”

Charlie isn’t sure what else there is to say, so she hangs up, and shoves her phone into her pocket. She’s got other things to do today; invitations to send out, decorations to buy, but it feels nice to make the call. It’s been so long since her mother has answered that it feels more like a diary entry than a voicemail. She isn’t sure what she’d say if she actually did answer. 

Vaggie steps outside, startling Charlie. She feels guilty for some reason, but she can’t put a reason on why. As she closes the door behind her, Charlie straightens up, and positions her expression to look a little less miserable.

“So, ready to go shopping?” Vaggie unfolds the list that Angel Dust had provided them. 

While he and Alastor were supposed to be in charge of the party planning, Angel had to return to the studio for some untold business, and Alastor hadn’t exactly seemed excited at the prospect. Charlie doesn’t mind. She and Vaggie can turn the chore into a day on the town. 

“Yup. Ready to go.” 

“I was thinking we’d hit that dress shop first, pick out our outfits first, and then look for decorations. There’s an earth antique shop that has some really cool stuff we could use for centerpieces.”

Charlie smiles wanly. “Sounds great. Do you want to walk, or should I call the car?”

Before Vaggie can answer, the door slams open again, making the two jump hard enough to make the puddle splash and soak the bottom of Charlie’s pants leg. 

Alastor closes the door behind him with a quiet click that seems to echo on the dull, empty street. He doesn’t have to adjust his posture or expression. He moves with the serene intent of someone who doesn’t have to worry about an untoward thought or emotion crossing their face; Alastor is secure in the knowledge that his outward appearance is firmly in his control, and whether that’s true or not, the confidence it begets is something that Charlie envies.

He shifts his cane from his left hand to his right, as he comes to stand beside Charlie. The puddle by her feet manages to catch his smile, reflecting it back with eerie life- likeness. 

“Were you about to blow?” Alastor asks. “Because I’ve got quite the proposition for you.” It only takes a moment for the slang to convert in Charlie’s mind, and despite herself, she feels a little proud of it. 

“We were, yeah.” Vaggie replies for her. She adjusts herself to stand between Charlie and Alastor, though it’s such a slight adjustment that Charlie can’t tell if it was intentional, or subconscious. Either way, it raises a hint of irritation in response. 

“Going shopping,” Charlie adds. “Why?”

Alastor produces a stack of thick, white envelopes from his pocket, and fans them out. The names written on them are in think curling letters. The first envelope reads ‘Mimzy’. No last name.

“I thought it would be a wise head solution to deliver some of these in person. Perhaps you could curry favor with a few investors if you came with me.” His eyes drop to Vaggie, who crosses her arms, and glowers in response. “But if your shopping is so important, I can go alone, though I doubt I’ll be as successful alone. After all, this is your passion project.”

While Charlie has money, well, she spent most of it on buying the building. Her father would’ve financed it if she’d asked, but that would have felt like cheating. Plus, she knows how he feels about her ideas on redemption; it would have made for an uncomfortable conversation at the least. She’s known for a while that she would eventually need investors, but was never sure how to go about looking for them. How could she, when there was no guarantee that it would even work?

Vaggie is still radiating violence, like she’ll risk biting Alastor’s hand if he touches Charlie. Normally, Vaggie’s tendency to linger on the line between violence and aggression doesn’t bother Charlie, but today, it just adds to her irritation. She already promised to not be friends. What more does she want?

“I- I guess shopping could wait. We’ve still got a week before the party.” Charlie says, her voice more hesitant than her mind is. What other choice is there? Without investors, the hotel will be under in months, even with Alastor’s considerable help. “I’ll come with you. Vaggie…” She trails off, unsure of what exactly to say. 

Vaggie is still glowering when she turns to face her, but it quickly melts into a look of endearment that makes Charlie feel bad for her lingering annoyance. “Of course. It’s business, right? You’ve got to follow the money. It’s the smart thing to do.”

She tries not to think the phrase ‘sugar daddy’, and fails miserably. 

Charlie presses a kiss to Vaggie’s forehead, and mutters a thanks as she pulls away. “I’ll make it up to you. “ She promises. 

It occurs to her that they never got to do anything after that first planning session, and she makes a note to follow through this time. The thought fades into her subconscious as Alastor offers her a hand. 

“Shall we?”

“Don’t you want me to call the car?” She asks as she takes it. 

“Oh, of course not.” He says jovially, as if Charlie had just said something vaguely humorous. “It’s much faster this way.”

In the space between a blink, the street outside the hotel changes to a building that looks like a warehouse, with art deco grating covering the walls and the windows behind them. A big metal door with a sliding peephole sits between them. Above the doorway is a plaque that reads, ‘Wise heads get a nimble one, rabble rousers get bumped’. 

Charlie turns, and realizes that they’re across the pentagram, though she’s never been here, exactly, before. 

“Where are we?”

“‘The Green Light’. It’s owned by a friend of mine, Mimzy. I know her well and she might be persuaded to give a little funding, if she finds the hotel to be as entertaining as possibility as I do.” He looks down at her, red eyes glimmering with amusement, and tilts his head to the side, reminiscent of a broken doll, or inquisitive deer. “Do you think you can convince her?”

_ Probably not _ , a small voice deep inside her says. 

“Of course I can,” Charlie says firmly. 

“Wonderful,” Alastor turns to the door, and knocks twice. The sound echoes more than it should. “I’m sure you will do wonderful.”

The door opens, and the sound of sultry jazz begins to play, for once not coming from Alastor’s staff. It beckons, and together, they step inside. 


	5. Lion's den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I revised last chapter only slightly- changed Rosie to Mimzy, as Mimzy owns a club, and Rosie an emporium. Otherwise, nothing's different. Hope you guys enjoy, and don't forget to read and review! Tumblr is Morte-Mistrata if you want to chat, request fic, or just follow me.

The light is yellow, like candles or old bulbs twittering their last watts away, and it makes Alastor appear almost orange, as if he were looking out above a fire. Charlie straightens up, and pretends that she’s not looking around, wide-eyed, as he leads her further into the building. It looks like a stereotypical speakeasy; gold art deco designs cover the walls, half obscured by thick, red curtains that hang haphazardly from the ceiling. Tall tables and barstools in matching bronze dot the floor halfway to the stage, where a dance floor begins. There are patrons at the bar, and a few waiting at the tables, but it’s still early, and it’s obvious that the usual festivities have yet to begin. 

Alastor leads Charlie past the bar to a door near the stage, and holds it open for her as they pass through. Several racks of clothing line the narrow hall, most of which gleaming or with soft fringe. Overhead, more sparse lights bathe the space in butter colored light. 

“Is it the failure,” Charlie asks, running her hand through the soft fabric. Ruby fringe trails over her fingers like water. “That she’ll find entertaining?” _ Like you?  _ “Or something else?”

The jazz from before fades away into silence as they move farther and farther away from the main area. The growing quiet makes the hush of static seem even louder. Once, she might have been anxious at the sound, but now, all Charlie can feel is curiosity at his hesitation to answer her. 

“Mimzy is an old friend,” Alastor explains, folding his arms behind his back. His pace slows so that he is no longer leading, but walking with Charlie, giving her a chance to watch his expression as he speaks. “I’ve known her nearly as long as I’ve been here. She and I may have much in common, but she is not like me. Mimzy is sentimental. She’ll-” And like a channel changing stations, he straightens up, his voice changing to one of a performer, his smile readjusting until it’s at full wattage. “Hello, dear. How are you? It’s been far too long.”

A door at the end of the hall creaks open, and a woman steps out. With the bright light of the room shining behind her, all that Charlie can make out is that she’s short, and by her silhouette, voluptuous.

“Hmph,” She slams the door behind her, casting herself into view. Pale blond hair in a short, stylish bob, a feather adorning her hair, and a fringe dress in maroon that contrasts with her pale skin- Charlie gleams her appearance as best he can as she approaches Alastor, hands on her hips, and a scowl gracing her pretty face. “Not long enough, if you ask me. Last time I saw you, you broke my heart,” Her eyes snap to Charlie, cold and piercing. “And now you’ve come to break it again.”

“Oh, nonsense. I’ve merely come to visit, and to introduce you to my business partner,” and with the slightest pause, he adds, “and friend, Charlie Magne. She’s got a business venture she’d like to share with you.”

Mimzy looks Charlie over, apparently unimpressed, and turns on her heel. “Fine. I’ll hear you out.”

Mimzy leads them to the end of the hall, and up a flight of stairs that opens up to a balcony. There’s a table pressed against it, with a pot of tea and a tray of cookies sitting in the center of it. When Mimzy draws the curtains, Charlie realizes that it’s been there all along, just hidden by the mesmerizing decor. She has the feeling that The Green Light has a lot more to it than was visible at first glance. She doesn’t doubt that she could get seriously lost here, if given the chance.

“Now,” Mimzy takes a seat, crossly her legs primly. Alastor and Charlie do the same, but while the other two look entirely at ease, Charlie feels like a flower withering under Mimzy’s harsh gaze. “What’s this business you’ve dragged my poor Alastor into, hmm?”

“Well,” Charlie drawls, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Every year, thousands of hell denizens are killed during Extermination to deal with our overpopulation. I think that there’s a better way: by achieving redemption. The Hazbin Hotel’s going to help sinners leave hell by going to heaven instead of being sent to the void. You know,” Charlie begins to falter in her pitch, the memory of the ‘picture show fiasco disrupting her thoughts worse than Alastor does to Vaggie. “Because you check out of a hotel… and it’s temporary?”

“Splendid idea, isn’t it, dear?” Alastor says, leaning forward. He places a hand on Charlie’s knee, startling her into silence. “Imagine all of the desperate, unfortunate souls who will pass through, hoping for an escape for the punishment they have wrought upon themselves. Isn’t the concept entertaining?”

Mimzy doesn’t look entertained. She pours a cup of tea for herself, and in what might be a gesture of friendliness, pours one for Charlie too. “Sugar, milk?” 

“Sugar please. Thank you.”

Mimzy drops three skull shaped sugar cubes into Charlie’s drink, but takes her own black. She sips from it, eyes flitting from Charlie to Alastor, then back to her drink. Charlie feels an urge to fill the silence, but Alastor claws trail up her thigh before disappearing, and the words, however stilted they were, leave her at his touch. 

Finally, Mimzy sets her cup down, and steeples her fingers. “You’re here for money, aren’tcha? Money, and you want me to send a few ‘customers’ your way? Fine, Al. We’ve been friends long enough that I can do you and your gal a favor.”

“Superb,” Alastor says, manifesting his staff in one hand, and a layer of parchment appearing in the other. “We can get the details worked-”

“Not so fast, Al. I’ll help, but I want to speak with Ms. Magne alone first.”

Alastor halts, and the air around him fritzes as he makes both objects disappear. “Oh? What for?”

“It’s fine,” Charlie says, raising her hands placatingly. “I’d be happy to talk with you.”

Mimzy tilts her head, as if daring him to argue further. Finally, Alastor stands, relenting. “Call if you require me.”

Mimzy waves him away, holding her head in her other hand as she watches him go. As soon as the door closes behind him, she smiles, and picks up her tea cup once more. 

Charlie still hasn’t touched hers, she realized. How rude of her. She lifts her cup and finally takes a sip as Mimzy does the same. 

“He’s cast his spell about you already, hasn’t he?” Mimzy muses. Charlie nearly chokes, and sets her cup down just a little too hard. “And you, like a little fool, took the bait willingly.”

“He- I-” Charlie stutters. She pauses and takes a deep breath. She’s not sure what the accusation against Alastor is, exactly, but the insult against her is obvious. “What are you talking about, exactly?”

Mimzy pulls a cigarette from between her cleavage, and lights it with a snap of her fingers. She takes a drag and tips the ash into her cup. Her eyes, which Charlie had taken as cold previously, set upon her with what feels more like pity. “If you don’t see it, well,” She takes another long drag, and blows smoke into Charlie’s face. “You’ll see soon enough. He’s cruel, but I’m sure you know that. He’s been breaking my heart for years without a care. If it were anyone else,” The cigarette bends beneath the force of her fingers, kicking embers onto the table. “I would have killed ‘em for it.”

Charlie can’t imagine Alastor ever being in love, all heads over heels, and love songs. It doesn’t fit his persona at all. Still, he was undeniably nice, sweet even to Mimzy, and has only ever talked of her endearingly. Maybe it would work, one day. What would a lovestruck Alastor even look like?  _ Those ears _ … she half-thinks, and then stops in her tracks. Bad thoughts. Bad.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Mimzy takes another huff. “One.” 

Without hesitation, she says, “What does Vox want with him?”

“Smarter than I thought,” Mimzy observes, lighting another cigarette. She hands it to Charlotte. She doesn’t like smoking, but she takes it anyway, and lets the smoke sting her lungs as she waits for Mimzy’s reply. “Back in the day, they got into it over territory. The picture show was new, but gaining power fast, but Radio still held the hearts of the nation. They were near evenly matched. But Alastor-dear won,” Mimzy sighs dreamily, and flicks the rest of cigarette into ash. It spills over the white lip of her cup and onto the dollie beneath it. “Vox wants a rematch, but Al won’t give.”

“Here,” Mimzy snaps, and draws a roll of parchment from her cup, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. “Take it. I’m sure Al’s waitin’ on ya.”

Charlie takes the paper, and unrolls it slightly as she stands. She catches a glimpse of a number with a moderate amount of zeros, and catches the first few lines written upon the page, ‘... A performance exclusive to Hazbin Hotel, with all merch sales being directed to The Green Light, as well as advertising…’. 

“Thank you,” Charlie says, resisting the urge to give her a hug, or say it in song. “Thank you so much!”

Mimzy only pulls out another cigarette and waves her off. “Stay smart, girlie, and maybe things’ll go your way.”

“Maybe,” Charlie repeats, shoving the note into her pocket. “Maybe.”

Downstairs, Alastor sits alone. A single glass of iced tea sitting on the table ahead of him, half empty. When he sees her, he stands, and grasping her hand, leads her towards the door. “My dear old friend didn’t speak ill of me, did she?”

“No,” Charlie replies honestly. “She was very nice, actually. I didn’t expect that.”

“I know that I’ve got quite the reputation, but I like to think of myself as rather gentlemanly. I would never befriend someone with lesser behavior.” Within the span of a step, they’re back outside at the hotel, the sky bright with mid-afternoon light. “Now, how does gumbo sound for lunch? I’m feeling rather famished.”

Finally free to be happy without being under scrutiny, Charlie squeals, wrapping herself around Alastor’s arm as she bounces on her toes. “It worked! We got a patron!”

“I knew you could do it, sweetheart,” He says, turning ever so slightly, his other hand falls to her waist as rockabilly begins to play. As a groove begins to work it’s way through her, urging her to dance, he continues “How about a-”

The door slams open, and Vaggie steps inside, arms full of various bags and boxes. It’s only when her eyes settle on the two of them that Charlie realizes how close they are. She steps back, just in time to catch the angered look on Vaggie’s face. 

She expects her to say something, anything- but all she does is shake her head, and walk past them to the elevator. The jovial mood from just moments ago is gone, as faint as the scent of last night’s dinner.

Alastor doesn’t seem to notice. “So, lunch?” He suggests, and Charlie, unsure of what else to do, follows him wordlessly to the kitchen, the events of the day, and Vaggie’s crushing mood weighing on her like a building pinning her to the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not forget guys! I've been a bit busy with college starting up again, and the work I've had to do ( I write essays for other students. Feel free to check out the instagram for it @lazystudenthelpline), BUT I've been working on this for a while. Don't forget to read and review!

“You look like you need a drink,” Husk comments as she slips out of the kitchen, her stomach full, but aching oddly nonetheless. It’s not hunger, she knows, or an unsettled stomach, but something like guilt at Vaggie’s reaction. Except it’s not, is it? It’s too sharp to be without at least a little anger. 

Charlie doesn’t pause to think twice on it, and slides onto one of the barstools. “Yeah, I’ll have one.”

Husk does a double take, his ears twitching, as if unsure that he’d heard her right, but after a moment, when she does not burst out laughing or nervously take it back, he turns and starts to mix something together. “So,” He coughs, obviously uncomfortable. “Is it trouble with the missus or with Al?”

“Both.”

Her chest feels at least a little bit lighter at admitting to it. It’d be easy to blame it all on Alastor, to say that he’s been starting things, and meddling and stirring up trouble, but the truth is, most of her annoyance is coming from Vaggie. Her immediate distrust of Alastor was fine- even Charlie knew better than to immediately trust in him- but he’s been nothing but helpful so far, and since she hadn’t signed a contract with him or otherwise made a deal, he doesn’t wield much power over her, or at least, nothing she couldn’t deal with. Her protectiveness, while it used to make her feel warm, now stokes the fires of discontent growing within her. 

Husk sets a tall glass of something neon green with salt on rim in front of her, and without bothering to ask what it is, she chugs it down. It’s sweet, but with the sting of alcohol, and already, she can feel the buzz start in the back of her head. 

“Well,” Husk gestures, urging her to go on. “Ain’t it customary for drunks to tell shit-all to their bartenders?”

Charlie laughs, smothering the sound into her palm. She shoves the glass back towards him. “I’m not drunk yet.”

“You’ll get there.” He promises, refilling the glass.

Charlie laughs again, and this time, only sips. It tastes like apple juice, she decides as she stares down into it, her reflection wavering, her mouth tilted into a frown. “Vaggie doesn’t trust Alastor.”

“Smart girl.” Husk remarks. 

“She doesn’t trust guys in general, and that’s fine usually, except- Al’s been nice.”

Husk pours himself a drink, four fingers of brandy, and knocks it back with professional ease. “Lot’s of bad guys can be nice.”

Charlie runs a finger around the rim of her cup, and licks the salt from her fingertip. “You really think he’s all that bad?”

“You know what he’s done.”

Well, yeah, who hasn’t? It should be simple, shouldn’t it? Her parents are the first demons; they invented sin, and yet, they’ve never been nearly as cruel as others since have been. Or at least, not needlessly. Charlie’s sense of morality might be skewed from growing up in hell, but she’d thought she understood the general area of where right and wrong lay well enough….

Maybe she doesn’t. 

The truth is, Alastor killed a lot of people for fun, and did horrible things before that back on Earth. And yet, for whatever reason, that knowledge is doing little to dissuade her from wanting to be around him. How confusing…

“People can change,” Charlie says hesitantly. And suddenly, it all clicks. “I want to help him be better! That’s all. He’s helped me, and I want to help him. He’s like a- a-” The word ‘project’ comes to mind, but it doesn’t fit exactly. 

“Sugar daddy?” Husk drawls.

Charlie makes a face that’s somewhere between polite disagreement and private shock. 

“ _ No.  _ Not a sugar daddy. A friend that I’m helping!”

“Hrmph.” Husk looks unconvinced. He takes a long drink. “Suit yerself.”

Charlie takes another sip and slides her drink away, slumping on the counter like she’s lost her spine. “Al’s got Vaggie acting really protective and kind of… overbearing.” It feels odd to admit it, but saying it aloud makes her feel lighter, as if denying it had created a physical weight that pressed down upon her chest. “I know that I’m optimistic; that doesn’t make me stupid or naive.”

“You try tellin’ her that?”

Charlie sits up, finishes the drink so fast she chokes a little, and slides off of her stool. She’s not drunk, just a little buzzed, but it’s enough liquid courage to get her going. 

“Great plan! The best plan!” She stumbles slightly as she turns towards the elevator in the back of the lobby. “I’ll do that.”

“Yeah,” Husk says, kicking his feet up on the counter. A bottle of cheap booze has found it’s way into his grasp. “You do that.”

###

By the time Charlie makes it up to the top floor where her and Vaggie’s shared penthouse suite lies, the alcohol has made its way through her system thoroughly. Her tongue is loose now, and the words she’s been ruminating over since she’d run into Vaggie earlier have run together like ink smearing on a page. 

It takes two or three tries for her hand to finally catch on the doorknob, and when she finally gets the door to work, she practically falls as she stumbles inside. Vaggie is sitting on the corner of the bed, and she doesn’t look up as Charlie crosses over to her. 

“What’re you doin’?” She slurs, carefully, carefully, walking over to the bed. There are dresses laid on the bed in various pastel shades of pinks and purples. Charlie notes the frills and bows, but the knowledge hardly sticks to her mind as she reaches for Vaggie’s hand. “Vaggie?”

“I bought dresses,” She says finally, either unaware of the redundancy of her statement or uncaring. “We’re about the same size, so take your pick. I’ll return whatever we don’t want tomorrow. Or not. With Alastor footing all the bills, we’ve got money to spend, don’t we?”

“We’ve got money to spend,” Charlie slips her fingers into Vaggie’s focusing so hard on the movement, that it takes her a moment to realize that she’s trailed off. “We’ve got money, because Alastor introduced me to Mimzy, and I convinced her to give it to me. Why’s that a bad thing?”

“It’s not, it’s just-” She pauses, and sniffs at Charlie’s neck, pulling her close with a sudden and sharp tug that makes her lose her balance and land squarely in her lap. Charlie doesn’t have the wherewithal to blush. “Have you been drinking?”

“You were mad at me,” Charlie mumbles as Vaggie repositions her, adjusting her into a proper sitting position. She’s aware that the answer she’s given is wrong, though she doesn’t quite remember why. 

Vaggie sighs, and brushes a loose strand of hair behind Charlie’s ear. “I’m not. Not really. It’s Alastor, he’s-”

“Been a big help. He’s nice.”

“He’s killed people, lot’s of them, for no goddamn reason! He’s horrible, he’s-”

“A sinner?” Charlie adds languidly. Vaggie pauses. Her expression says that she’s been got. “We’re all here for a reason, Vags. The point is to get better. I- the party, we’ll have to all get along at the party. I’ll have to dance with everyone, and you can’t get mad about it- not like this.”

Vaggie is quiet. Charlie can hear the sluggish thumping of her heart, and feel the warmth of her skin against her own. The beginnings of drowsiness are setting upon her- not because she can’t handle her liquor, but because of the position she’s in, and the serene scenery. Not to mention, she’s kind of had a lot. And today has been rather long. 

Still, she fights the pull of her drowsiness until Vaggie speaks again, disturbing the stale silence with quiet words. “Wear one of the dresses I got for you. I’ll try, okay? I’ll play nice with him, if that’s what you want. I’m sorry. I never meant to be overprotective. I just… I care about you.”

“I know.” Charlie murmurs back. “I love you too.”

###

The next morning, Charlie wakes with a slight headache, and looks over the dresses left hanging on the back of the desk chair with a simmering level of distaste. Vaggie is gone, probably doing more shopping for the party, but she’d tucked her into bed before she’d left. The childish, modest dresses are in colors that suit Vaggie more than herself, and their cuts, though stylish, make her feel like she’s attempting to appear innocent, like if she appears non threatening enough, no one will bother with her. 

If she’s learned anything over the years, it’s that innocence tends to attract danger, not ward it off. Implying herself as prey would only make her appear victimizable, and would force her hand in ways she’d rather not explore. 

It’s a byproduct of Vaggie’s protectiveness, she understands. She thinks that having her dress like this will make her realize that Vaggie was right when someone inevitably tries something, that everyone is untrustworthy and that she was a fool for believing otherwise, or maybe she just got a thrill out of seeing her like that, in her own colors and designs… or maybe Charlie’s reading too much into it. Maybe the hangover, and the dull ache of annoyance are making her cruel.

Someone knocks on the door. Charlie sets the dresses back down, and waving her hand at her reflection as she passes by, makes herself presentable. The gentle touch of magic smoothes the wrinkles from her clothes, and tucks her hair back into place. There’s still a lingering bitterness from the drinks she’d had, and she’s sure her eyes belie her tiredness, but if she were to fix those, it’d likely only tire her more. 

Charlie opens the door.

“Good morning, Charlie. You’re up bright and early, aren’t you?” Alastor says, his hands folded behind his back. He peers down at her, his eyes knowing as they linger over her silhouette, and rise to meet her own tired gaze. “I had a friend of mine send over a dress for you. With the ball coming up so soon, and how busy you are, I thought you might like the option.” 

With a snap, he conjures a dress on a hangar, covered with a garment bag. As he holds it out to her, his eyes snap over to the dresses laying on the chair, their pastel colors contrasting oddly with the muted burgundies and blacks of the room’s decor. 

“Of course, if your amour has already provided, feel no need to wear what I picked out for you. I do think it’ll look nicer with your complexion than hers.”

“Thank you,” Charlie says, taking it from his grasp before his last word dies out in the air. “I appreciate it.”

Alastor’s grin changes slightly, though Charlie would be hard pressed to tell how, but it looks smug. As if she’d done something to please him. 

“Is it from Mimzy?”

“Oh, she likes you, princess, but not that much. Not yet. It’s from Rosie. She owns an emporium and will be another benefactor, if you can convince her. At the ball perhaps. I don’t think your gal likes you doing business with me.”

“Vaggie is protective.” Charlie says defensively, and then seeing the faint rise of his eyebrow, slumps slightly and admits, “It gets on my nerves, but she means well.”

Alastor tilts his head, as if questioning her, but doesn’t say a word. 

“Thank you. I’m going back to bed now, but we can talk about going to meet Rosie later today.  _ Before the ball _ .” She clarifies.

Alastor nods, and turns on his heel with the grace of a deer. Charlie watches him go for longer than she should, her eyes clinging to the lithe lines of his body, and the fluffed ears that twitch slightly as he waits for the sound of a closing door, a sound she rushes to make when she realizes that he’s waiting for it. 

Charlie leans against the closed door, and sliding down to a sitting position, her knees pressed to her chest, she pulls the dress from it’s wrappings. It’s red and grey and white, the violence of the red blunted by the soft trimmings and detailing that line the asymmetric neckline, and dipping high-low hem. It looks like something Audrey Hepburn would wear, but with a fabric much slicker than anything possible in the living world. No, this is spider silk. Hard to get a hold of, and harder still to wear well. 

She loves it. 

In an instant, she loves it, but that feeling, so warm, and perfect, is soon met with the harsh realization of what she’d promised only last night. On its heels come another thought: I could just tell her I don’t want to wear them. But somehow, that conversation seems worse than the one they’d had the previous night. 


End file.
